


How do I get to heaven?

by learninghowtobreathe



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Body Worship, Depression, Disabled Character, Domestic, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Honeymoon, Kissing, M/M, Marriage, Music, Smut, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, so cute and fluffy I died writing it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:18:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5848225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/learninghowtobreathe/pseuds/learninghowtobreathe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just cute fluffy domestic sexy times. What's more to say?</p>
            </blockquote>





	How do I get to heaven?

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't write any sex scenes in ages, so idk if it's any good. Also as you probably see I have specific style when it comes to smut. Anyway, I hope you like it.
> 
> Enjolras is trans and Grantaire is disabled cause I am a god of this fic and I say so.
> 
> God knows we need more both trans and disabled characters in fics.

_Without losing a piece of me_ __  
How do I get to heaven?  
Without changing a part of me  
How do I get to heaven?  
All my time is wasted  
Feeling like my heart's mistaken, oh  
So if I'm losing a piece of me  
Maybe I don't want heaven?

-Troye Sivan, "Heaven"

 

***

 

“You know,” Grantaire started, finishing a French braid on one side of Enjolras’ head. “we should probably have sex.”

“Now?” Enjolras raised his brows, then yawned, then continued to look both amused and surprised.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. Now would be good. Frankly, anytime would be good. With his on-and-off schedule he was rarely home, and Enjolras was just getting out of really bad phase of his depression – and in result they mostly just watched Netflix together when they had a rare free time. Which was good, too, but they were married for six months now and shouldn’t they still be in that honeymoon phase?

Well, they never really were. Their wedding was more of a stress than a happy day, Enjolras’ parents too insistent and so goddamn nosy. He was feeling bad already then, fight with his parents who denied his whole identity and wanted him to wear a pretty dress and be a magazine cover bride wearing him off, his depression flaring, his work overwhelming. In the end they won this one fight, getting married as they wanted, as husband and husband, but everything else was a staged show made by his parents. Grantaire never stopped wishing his parents were alive so they could help here, but alas, he was alone.

They loved each other so much, there was no doubt about it. They fought a lot, they always did, but they would die for each other. They just rarely showed it in bedroom.

And yeah, it was all good, R never really did mind Enjolras’ low sex drive, and was happy to have Star Wars marathon instead of sex marathon. But really, they didn’t do anything more than kissing for like a month now, and he had to admit, he missed it.

“Actually” Enjolras stretched his legs on R’s lap, his nails painted red. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“You wouldn’t mind.” R repeated, raising his brows as well. “And we’re sitting here discussing possibilities instead of, I don’t know, going at it?”

“We always liked discussions.” He smiled like a cat who just got a cream. He moved, straddling his hips now, and leaned in so their noses touched.

“We did.” He admit, smiling softly. God, he loved this man so much, everything in him. He was so happy, despite all the struggles. He was so happy he could come home to him.

He closed the gap between them, pressing their lips together, the tiniest of kisses. He could feel Enjolras smile, and he smiled too. Life was good.

They kissed, more and more heated, licking into each other’s lips, hushed moans breaking in the air. He could practically hear their kisses as music, notes in the air, like beautiful song played on the piano. He always felt like this with Enjolras. Like their whole life, everything they did, was a melody, the most perfect of them all.

“Come on.” Enjolras kissed him for the last time, and pulled him up, oh-so-gently, handing him his crutch before he could even ask. It was so important to him, always, his husband guessing his needs, helping him in this unique way that wasn’t embarrassing, wasn’t too insistent, was completely focused on what he needed. In his whole life, his whole struggle with his body, he never met anyone who would be like that. So considerate, so thoughtful, so knowing about what he wanted and needed.

He let himself be led to the bedroom, giving up this one part of control, knowing well he’ll be the one controlling situation soon. Enjolras was surprisingly submissive when it came to sex, like the contradiction to everything he was in outside, public life.

When the bedroom door closed, he pushed him, pinning him to it, putting all his weight on his arms to support his legs. He kissed him, insistent, hard kiss, letting himself get lost in the feeling. Enjolras held him, not letting him fall, not letting the pain get to him, and it was glorious.

They tumbled onto the bed, and he looked at his beautiful husband, his long curly hair, eyes heavy-lidded from lust, his tiny waist like made to be held. He undressed him slowly, stopping at his binder, but Enjolras hurried him to continue, to strip him completely. His body was beautiful, skin light and freckled, occasional scars barely visible. He kissed his arms, covered in delicate freckles, his bony elbows, stopping on the hands, nipping at his fingers, kissing a shining ring. Six months. Biggest, most wonderful adventure in his whole, pretty adventurous, life.

He was taken by surprise when Enjolras flipped them over, hovering over him and kissing him with fire and insistence. He moved down his body, kissing his chest, his scarred arms, his bruised legs.

They fit together like puzzle pieces, making love like a melody. He heard music in his ears again, and making love to Enjolras was like playing perfectly tuned instrument, pressing in right places for right sounds. He was gentle and delicate, and fierce and passionate, one huge contradiction, his eyes big and starry like a galaxies. He could feel every tremble in him, every ripple of pleasure, every moan building in his chest long before he made a sound. He touched him in feather-like touches, scared to break his porcelain skin. Enjolras was too perfect for him, too perfect for life itself. He always felt this way, in awe that he would want him at all.

They held each other coming down from the high, murmuring sweet nothings and laughing breathless laughs.

“We should do it more often.” Enjolras laughed, playing with his hair.

“I second that statement.” He laughed too, wishing he had his sketchbook now, to capture perfect face of the love of his life. It was full of sketches of him now, he rarely drew anything else, Enjolras an endless inspiration.

They fell asleep clinging to each other, music still playing in their heads.

 

THE END.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up at alexthefuckingfeminist.tumblr.com! 
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you think cause I am a needy baby and need constant validation.


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